Letter: Tragic events incomprehensible

Marty ShaughnessySt. Augustine

Published Tuesday, September 25, 2001

I haven't cried since Sunday. The healing, the recovery is progressing. Things are slowly returning to a sense of normalcy. In my place of work -- a social place where friends gather -- there are more familiar faces gathered in the late afternoon. There's a bit more laughter, more back-slapping.

At home, at night, I walk into my son's room and watch him sleep. I am reminded how often I used to do this when he was an infant. I think to myself that I don't do this as much as I should. These days it seems I go in to turn a light off or pull the covers up. Since Sept. 11, I've made a point of staying longer, like when he was an infant. He is 7 now.

The tragic events of Sept. 11 were hundreds of miles away, yet here in the dawn of the 21st century, they happened before our eyes. They happened in our living rooms. We could all but smell it. We hear the unending stream of stories, of ordinary people's lives turned upside-down, inside-out and shredded to pieces. We hear of heroes. And we cry. We hear the prayers, the hymns, the impassioned speeches and the patriotic songs, and we cry.

Not since my father's passing almost five years ago have I shed so many tears. That was a great personal loss, yet it was different. It was understandable. While we hurt by his passing, we knew that he had lived a full life in his 80 years. We understood the causes that took him from us. We mourned our loss but celebrated his life. The tragic events of Tuesday, Sept. 11, are nearly incomprehensible. Even as we watched it happen, it was with disbelief. In the days, following the horrific events I caught myself thinking, 'Did this really happen?'' Sadly, I knew the answer was yes.

And so we recover, each in our own way.

Last Sunday, we cleaned up in the wake of Tropical Storm Gabrielle. As I surveyed the mess that was in our yard, I could not help but think about images in lower Manhattan. It helped keep it all in perspective. As we cleaned up limbs, raked and bagged up debris, I thought of the firefighters working around the clock at ground zero. The yard work didn't seem like a big deal.

Last night our family did the things that families do. We ate, we helped with homework, we read a book. We watched our son sleep. We discussed work, we discussed finances. And we watched our son sleep.

Some things that seemed important before Sept. 11 now seem trivial, and some things that seemed trivial now seem more important. The off-to-school hug to a son, the off to work kiss to a spouse -- I admit I've probably been guilty of taking these for granted, of going through the motions. And so I make a vow never to be guilty of that again.

As we strive to get back to normal, I cannot help but think that recovery is a journey, not a destination. We've only just begun.